


To Be Near You For A While

by cloverfield



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: M/M, Piffle Arc, Sakura's Questionable Driving Ability, Unrepentant Theft of Clothes, boyfriend shirt, the morning after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: The beds in Piffle are small, or at least the ones in their trailer are; almost too small for two grown men of their size to fit, unless said grown men are very determined that they should do so.
Relationships: Fay D. Fluorite/Kurogane
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	To Be Near You For A While

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt fill. Fai steals Kurogane's shirt.

At night Fai sheds clothes like a snake sheds skin, rising fair and sleek from the tangle he leaves behind to stalk towards the bed, and though this inevitably means Kurogane spends his mornings cleaning up after him (picking up belts and pairing up boots, folding “jeans” and jacket and bundling up the scrap of cloth Sakura had called a “neckerchief” and he himself knows is actually a very truncated scarf) it’s not something he has a mind to stop.

“Kuro-chan, have you seen my shirt?”

The beds in Piffle are small, or at least the ones in their trailer are; almost too small for two grown men of their size to fit, unless said grown men are very determined that they should do so. It’s something of a relief, then, when Fai slips from the sheets and Kurogane can stretch at last, his toes bumping up against the end of the bunk as he yawns. “Don’t call me that. Where did you leave it last?”

Fai throws his hands up in an exasperated gesture that could mean _how should I know_ or _I don’t remember_ but Kurogane understands as _you were in a hurry to get me undressed last night so this is your fault_ , and it’s not so bad to take the blame for that.

“You could get up and help me.”

Kurogane just snorts, because he _could_ , but precedence says he’s not going to. “They’re your clothes, mage. I know where mine are.”

The look Fai gives him is too annoyed and too honest to be a lie, a spark of something aggressive in blue eyes, and that just makes Kurogane grin. He likes this man best when he forgets to wear the mask, and these days it seems like he’s forgetting more often than not.

(There may be trouble, later, because of that; but Kurogane fights for the things he cares for and he cares for this man in spite of himself.)

“Fine,” grumbles the mage, finding and struggling into the tight denim pants that seem to be the uniform of choice for Dragonfly pilots. He has to hop around a bit to get into them, but the tight fabric frames long, lean legs so well Kurogane can’t bring himself to laugh, lest the lanky idiot find something else to wear. “If you’re not going to help me, you can at least lend me yours. I have to start breakfast, you know.”

And with that, he snatches up Kurogane’s own shirt from where it was folded neatly, tossing it over his narrower shoulders without care for how the darker fabric hangs loose and open to veil the stripe of pale skin from chest to belly like clouds frame moonlight. The marks Kurogane left on his skin last night - the base of his throat and the arch of a collar bone, dark bruises blooming and bitemarks in ~~loving~~ indentation across the sweep of lean muscle and fair-sculpted bone - stand out all the more boldly for the contrast, and abruptly he regrets even letting Fai get out of bed in the first place, extra leg room be damned.

Maybe it shows on his face, because blue eyes darken, and Fai pauses with his pale clever hands tangled up in dark cloth, the weight of his gaze heavy on skin that prickles with tension. The kids can find breakfast for themselves, surely, and the two of them more interesting ways to occupy their morning.

**Whirr-whirr-whirrrrr–CLANGG!!**

_“PRINCESS!”_

The noise of a small light aircraft making a sudden and undignified landing and Syaoran’s plaintive wail crashes over the tension in the room like a bucket of water on coals, quenching any potential ardour with much the same efficiency; without thinking they both look at one another and sigh “Sakura” in much the same breath.

“She might have hurt herself,” mutters Fai, fingers flying quick across the fastenings of Kurogane’s shirt.

“If not her, then the kid’s probably having a fit,” grunts Kurogane, tossing the covers off and rolling out of the bunk to get dressed himself.

“Meet you there?” says Fai, a little distracted, and if Kurogane uses that moment of distraction to remember him like this - half-dressed, gently dishevelled, all his masks so long forgotten - it has no significance to anyone but him.

“Alright,” says Kurogane, and snags a bony elbow to snatch a kiss before Fai can protest.

**Author's Note:**

> It is a long-standing headcanon of mine that Kurogane has a thing for Fai wearing his clothes. You will prise this headcanon from my cold, dead hands.


End file.
